


Ghost story

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e13 Ghostfacers, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corbett gets picked up in a bar by a blogger who asks questions about ghost stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Signe_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/gifts).



> For that superhero amongst fangirls and champion of rare-pairs, Signe_chan, on the occasion of her birthday. It's late because I got carried away. Whoops. Also fills the prompt 'invisibility' on my hc_bingo card. 
> 
> Set literally the night before 3x13 'Ghostfacers'

Corbett knows he's being kind of a sad-sack, staring into his mostly-empty drink like this. He should be doing anything but getting drunk - essay writing, for a start, or picking up stuff for the Ghostfacers meeting tomorrow night, or … well, that's kind of the problem, isn't it. He knows he's avoiding thinking about the meeting, because thinking about the meeting means thinking about Ed and thinking about Ed means acknowledging the fact that Ed basically thinks of Corbett as a semi-autonomous coffee-machine. 

So yeah, Corbett is aware that he's a sap, and unrealistically romantic, and that having a crush on a dude with a Ghostbusters complex and a clingy best friend is utterly dumb, but the heart wants what the heart wants, or whatever, and Corbett's stupid heart wants Ed. And Ed? Hasn't even noticed. Corbett sighs. He's a big messy ball of ridiculous stereotype right now, and he almost doesn't care. Tossing back the last of his Jack and coke, he's pretty much considering going home to curl up with Project Runway and a tub of Haagen Dazs, just to complete the trifecta of misery, when someone sits down at the bar next to him.

'If you don't mind me saying, you look like you could use another,' says the new arrival. 

Corbett looks up as the bartender brings over another Jack and coke, and pours a double whiskey for Corbett's new friend. Who is kind of far too attractive to be buying Corbett drinks, because Corbett's life doesn't work like this. Good-looking men don't buy Corbett drinks in bars.

'Thanks,' says Corbett, because his mama raised him right. 'Hi, I'm, uh, I'm Corbett,' he adds, stretching out his hand on autopilot. 'Alan - uh, Alan Corbett, but people mostly just call me Corbett,' he says, and Jesus, can't he just shut up? Why does he always keep talking?

The stranger smiles easily at him and shakes. His hands are massive. 'Sam,' he says, and doesn't volunteer a last name. 'So, Corbett,' he says. 'I'm a reporter, a … a blogger, checking out some local ghost stories. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'

Sam keeps smiling, and he's really easy to talk to, and Corbett likes helping people out. And Ed and Harry are always talking about 'getting the internet buzzing', and 'going viral', whatever that really means, so Corbett sips his drink slowly and soaks in the smile and the soft encouragement, and tells Sam what he knows about their next case, the Morton house and how haunted it supposedly is. 

Sam is a good listener. And any publicity is good publicity, right?

***

Last call comes and Sam's still sitting with Corbett, and Project Runway and the Haagen Dazs are pretty much forgotten around the time when Sam turns in to listen a little closer and his knee brushes Corbett's thigh. To be honest, Corbett's kind of lost track of what they were talking about, too. And Sam's got this look on his face, sweet and amused, like he's figured that out. Like he's figured _Corbett_ out and he likes what he sees. 

It's melodramatic but Corbett kind of feels like it's been a long time since anyone has looked his way like this.

'So, you wanna get out of here?' Sam asks, when their drinks are dregs. 'I mean, sounds like you and me both kinda work the nightshift and my uh … my partner's off on another job but I think you gave me plenty to work with here, so I'm at a loose end ...'

This is not Corbett's life. Attractive men don't blatantly try to pick him up at bars and take him home. 

'I mean, if you want the company,' Sam adds. 

Sam's hands have been cupped around his empty whiskey tumbler for a while now, real close to where Corbett's fingers are tapping on the bar, and he sort of stretches out to touch Corbett's hand, and Corbett abruptly decides that he doesn't care _whose_ life this is that he's got by mistake, he's going to take it for a test-drive.

***

Sam kisses like a runaway freight train and Corbett just sort of hangs on and tries to give as good as he's getting. He wishes he'd tidied his apartment this morning. He wishes he'd made his bed. He also wishes he'd picked a pair of jeans without a button-fly, but frankly actually Sam doesn't seem to notice or care about any of those things - just sits heavily on the mattress and drags Corbett into his lap and wrenches at his fly until it's open enough for Sam to get his (yes, massive, Jesus Christ) hand inside. 

Okay, so, apparently Sam is a shy smiley blogger in public, and a very bossy lay in private. Corbett can definitely work with that. Someone wants to lay him out and get all caveman with him … well, for a given value of caveman, that's something Corbett appreciates. And Sam's pretty observant, keeps changing tack until he finds things that make Corbett moan the right way and then keeps doing them - and if he's too rough, if Corbett can't take it and he tries to squirm away then Sam will alter course immediately - he stops biting pretty fast when Corbett pushes him away, licks over the sore places instead (and that is so much better, wow), but he figures out really quick that Corbett likes the blunt drag of Sam's fingernails down his back and so there are going to be soft red marks there tomorrow, Corbett's pretty sure. He squirms down over Sam's lap and hopes it's working because he's kind of uncoordinated and Sam's not letting him move much anyway. 

It's all kind of breathless and overwhelming and before he knows how he got there Corbett's stretched out, naked, over his own messed-up blankets and Sam's naked too, pressing hard kisses to his collarbones and snaking a hand down over Corbett's stomach and hips, ghosting over his dick and behind his balls and saying, 'Can I? Do you -?' hotly.

Corbett usually doesn't with people who pick him up in bars, but just this once he really really wants to - getting laid, being with someone who for whatever reason wants to spend time with him, is better than getting drunk and being on your own because the person you want to just sit on a goddamn couch with and talk to doesn't even seem to know you exist when you're not in the same room. 

So he breathes out 'Yeah, I do, you should -' and scrabbles for the handle of his bedside drawers until he can find lube and a condom and by the time he's found them and looks back up Sam's stretching out over the end of the bed fishing for his jeans. He straightens up with a condom in his hand. 

'Great minds, huh?' Sam says, huffing a little laugh that softens him just a little before he's straight back between Corbett's thighs, heavy and warm and hungry. He gets a hand in Corbett's hair and pulls a little, nips gently at Corbett's neck, and it's all Corbett can do not to melt into the mattress under him. 'Might be a good thing we've got two,' he adds, after a minute, in a rumbling growl that goes straight to Corbett's dick, makes it twitch against Sam's where they're trapped between their bellies, and Corbett gasps. Sam smiles against his skin and pulls the tube of lube out of his hand. 'Gonna guess it's been a while, huh?' 

Corbett isn't ashamed of the fact that he doesn't exactly pick up a new guy every Friday night. 'Maybe you're just lucky,' he retorts a bit breathlessly, and Sam laughs. 

'Sure am. Want me to show you how much I appreciate it?' he asks, sitting up on his knees and stroking, dragging his nails down Corbett's body just the right way to make Corbett squirm. 'Open you up so you can appreciate it too?'

Sam doesn't exactly wait for Corbett to figure out how to make words again, though - just slicks up and gets down to business. Jeez, his fingers are big. Corbett splays his thighs wide and arches his back to get a better angle and Sam takes the space he's giving up and pushes for more. He gets in knuckle-deep, rubbing deeper and deeper inside until Corbett's rocking into the motion, eyes closed and hands fisted in the sheets and Sam's muttering under his breath, 'Yeah, fuck, you're so good for me, such a sweet thing, dunno how anyone keeps their hands off you, god.'

'Sam -' Corbett moans, ' _please -_ '

Sam gets another finger into play and Corbett starts to feel the stretch, the burn of it. Even just the first joints of them, shallow as possible, is more than he's used to. 'Definitely been a while,' Sam says and he sounds pleased about it. He presses a sloppy kiss to the base of Corbett's dick. 'But there's someone, isn't there. Corbett? Someone you want?'

And that gets Sam in a little deeper, with the way he rubs and circles and pulls and pushes and the way Corbett can't help but shudder into him on that particular thought. 'Yeah,' he says softly. There's no point lying. 

Sam's not gentle, fingering Corbett wide, but he's not rough, either. 'They're an idiot,' he says, easing a third finger in. 'Jesus _fuck_ , they are the dumbest sonofabitch out there, if they don't want you.'

'He doesn't know,' Corbett pants, arching into Sam's hands, the burn turning into something good. 'It's not his fault, he doesn't _see_ oh Jesus, Sam, please -'

'Must be blind then,' Sam growls, pulling free, reaching for a condom. 'Saw you in the bar, knew you'd help me out with my story.' He huffs that soft little laugh again into Corbett's shoulder, pulling himself up and lining up to push in. 'Way you smiled at me, though. Had to take another look. Can't imagine walking past that every day and not seeing it.'

Corbett knows he's blushing, can't help it, and the head of Sam's dick is catching at him, pushing in. 'I'm not -' he stutters. 'I'm just the intern,' he says, rolling his hips, trying to catch a breath and catch a break, and Sam slides in more. His hands are either side of Corbett's head now and he's looking down all heated and sure and it feels like he's never gonna bottom out, like he's pushing forever, until he does, and then they're looking at each other and Sam's eyes are dark and fierce and Corbett feels like a butterfly pinned under him. 

'Doesn't matter,' Sam says hotly. 'You're not invisible, y'know.'

'Just fuck me,' Corbett moans. 'Sam, please, just fuck me.' 

Sam kisses him with teeth and tongue and his hands pulling at Corbett's hair again and starts to move his hips. 'Yeah,' he says. 'I can do that. Just let me take care of you, sweetheart.'

He doesn't stop looking, is what gets Corbett going. Sam bites his own lip and pounds into Corbett, hard enough to shake the bed, hard enough to get stars bursting behind Corbett's eyes and heat across his skin, but he doesn't stop looking. 'You weren't out to score tonight, were you? Sam growls. 'That's not your scene.'

'No,' Corbett says, trying to get his heels down hard enough to lever himself into the rhythm Sam's building. 'No, I wasn't, I -'

'Drowning your sorrows, right?'

And no, that's not - Corbett's just got a crush, he's not that melodramatic - 'I - I - please, Sam -'

'Whoever it is you're pining over, they're not worth it.' Sam's covering Corbett now, skin to skin and Corbett's body curled up, his dick crushed between them, Sam's elbows over Corbett's shoulders planted into the pillows. There's no room to move, just Sam so hard up in him that Corbett's taking that pressure, hip-circling skittering over his prostate and making him desperate to come. 'No-one's worth wasting your life over,' Sam says, and he says it so deep-growled and adamant that for a moment Corbett wonders who he's talking to.

'Not wasting my life,' Corbett pants, trying to get a hand on his dick. 'Just getting on with it.'

'I got you,' Sam says, apparently abandoning the therapy session and hitching Corbett's legs up around his waist, changing the angle again and Jesus, yes, that, _there_ -

Corbett scrabbles at Sam's shoulders as he feels himself start to come, wedged into a tiny curl under Sam's massive body. Sam nips at him again, open-mouthed breathing harsh against Corbett's sweaty, overheated skin, and Corbett clings with nails and knees and ankles and his cock jerks between them, and he's done for - Sam's not far behind, either, shoves in and in and in and Corbett feels like a pretzel (a really fucked-out, blissed-out pretzel) until Sam groans in his ear and Corbett can feel him coming hard into the condom. 

He lets his limbs drop back to the mattress, utterly spent. Sam sort of collapses on top of him. Corbett gets hair in his mouth and Sam's breathing hard into his neck. It's warm, they're slick and messy and comfortable, and Corbett lifts a hand and strokes it through Sam's sweaty hair, thinking he'll get up in a moment. Just a moment.

***

When Corbett wakes up in the morning Sam's gone, and he's even locked the door behind him. There's a note on the countertop wrapped around something little and square that turns out to be the condom Sam brought with him last night and didn't use. 

_Make him see you._

_\- Sam_


End file.
